


Archis Akasha

by MistCover



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Illustrated, Marriage, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistCover/pseuds/MistCover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do Humans Have A Word For That?” You say, quietly, into her shoulder, now simply holding her, rocking her back and forth against you. </p><p>“For what?” </p><p>“Permanent Girlfriends.”</p><p>Post game AU. Very fluffy girlfriends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I was sad and now I think it might continue it but I make no promises. I do take suggestions in the comments or @ grimdarkthroes on tumblr!!!
> 
> ILLUSTRATIONS DONE BY hylianrudolf.tumblr.com AND YOU SHOULD GO KISS THEM.  
> Special thanks to Dan @ discoveringdaniel.tumblr.com

“I love you,” you say, rubbing small circles on your matesprit’s back. Yes, matesprit definitely feels like the right word, settling in from the up-up intonation used for those casually dating to the up-down in the second syllable, for something deeper, more permanent. The humans don’t understand the intricacies of your native tongue, the way the slightest shift in pitch can alter the entire meaning of a word.

Karkat arched an eyebrow the first time you used the lower note, and his eyes narrowed as he retorted, keeping his words deeply sarcastic. You had offered him tea at your house and he declined but showed up anyways, his arms folded stiffly across his chest.

“I Have Started To Think Of Rose As My Matesprit,” you explained as you tugged him to the couch. He sat with a puff of air and a disapproving click of his tongue.

“YEAH, BECAUSE WHILE YOU ARE COMPLETELY ABLE TO BE THAT SERIOUS ABOUT SOMEONE RIGHT NOW, MAYBE SHE ISN’T. DID YOU EVEN FUCKING TALK TO HER ABOUT THIS?” You and he speak exclusively Alternian around each other, since it is so much more efficient than English.

“No But I Am Certain She Would Feel The Sam-”

“THEN TALK TO HER, YOU NOOKSTAIN. WHY DO I HAVE TO BE THE SHIT FISTING VOICE OF REASON AROUND HERE?”

“How Am I Supposed To Communicate That Matesprit and Matesprit Are Two Entirely Different Words She Has Barely Recovered From The ‘Deadly’ Comment”

“FIND THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT AND SAY THAT WORD. WE MADE THEIR SORRY ASSES. LITERALLY, YOU AND ME, AS THE WORLD’S LEAST EFFECTIVE PAIR OF ASSHOLES, MADE THEM. THERE’S NO WAY THEY DON’T HAVE A WORD.”

When he left, you rolled the word on your tongue. Matesprit, matesprit, matesprit, trying the different degrees of commitment and you paced the living room until Rose came home.

To that end, you lured her to your shared bed for backrubs and purring. As she settled onto your lap, her head tilted forward towards her chest, hair falling forward onto her face, you are broken from your reverie. 

“I love you, too.” Her voice is soft, distant, the way it gets only when she is deeply relaxed or on the very edge of sleep, those rare nights you stay awake with her until early morning, laying in bed to talk about nothing until she curls in on herself and collapses. She drools on you, usually, and denies it.

“Do You Think We Could Be-” you struggle for the right word, since ‘fated’ is the closest translation but you don’t want to come across as overbearing- “Permanent?” She stiffens beneath you and you focus on rubbing her skin, tracing your claws feather light across her back until little bumps raise.

“This relationship?” She asks, and you know better than to answer. For a few minutes, it is nothing but deadly silence, and you brace for impact. “I hadn’t thought of it as transient.” It’s a half-answer and all you’re going to get, apparently, bending down to press a kiss to the nape of her neck, where a mole lays raised against the smattering of freckles on her skin. More silence as you work her shirt up and off, still keeping your touches chaste, giving her time to mull it over.

“Do Humans Have A Word For That?” You say, quietly, into her shoulder, now simply holding her, rocking her back and forth against you.

“For what?”

“Permanent Girlfriends.” What terrible, awkward phrasing. Humans communicate so poorly. She falls silent, again, shifting beneath you, pushing off your lap to sit in front of you. She reaches out a hand and cups your cheek, and you nuzzle into her palm out of habit.

“Humans can preform a legally binding, and in some instances, religiously binding ceremony to tie themselves permanently to a partner.”

“Sounds Complex.”

“It is, and should only be undertaken if the couple is exceedingly serious about the stability of their relationship.” She stands up, off the bed, and slips her shirt back on. Wait, what? Why is she leaving? You glance at her, confused. “We call it marriage.”

“Is It A Ritual Contract You Have Any Interest In Performing?” You stand, as well, reaching to touch her shoulder but she dodges, stepping to the side.

“I find it inconsequential.” Her mouth flicks down into the shadow of a frown and you can see it, and it isn’t so inconsequential, is it Rose. “Besides, marriages between couples of the same gender are seen as highly suspect and potentially illegal, so it is not as if we could even if we wanted to.” She deflates, almost unnoticeably, when she says this. The subtle shift in her shoulders, the sigh of her breath give her away.

You open your mouth to speak but she leaves to go into her office, the workspace where she bangs on her keyboard until words come out, pages upon pages of stacked writing exploding out of your printer. She’s working on a novel, apparently, but all she ever seems to produce are articles for magazines and journals, long explanations of obscure concepts and occult themes that come neatly packaged in the glossy pages of whatever publication she wrote it for. In tiny grey lettering, below the title, there is always “Written by/Contributed by/By” and then, even less noticeably, “Rose Lalonde.” You hear a click, followed by some taps, and then she is playing her violin. Her notes are loud, and strong, and much too fast. She plays like this when she is angry, or stressed, and the fury of her notes rip through the house until your hyper-sensitive ears ring. You decide to leave her be, wandering (escaping) downstairs to formulate a better plan of action.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave is unamused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No illustration for this one- unsure of how frequent illustrations will be!!! But there will be at least a couple more. If you have suggestions for where the story should go I take suggestions in the comments.

When you wake up the next morning, Rose is still asleep on your chest, all four of her limbs on you or tangled around you, somehow. Her breath washes over your chest, one arm is wrapped around your shoulders, the other around your neck, and both legs are slotted between yours.

This is a common problem.

A problem in that you work outside of your shared house, telling others how to arrange and organize their spaces, giving suggestions for complementary colors, ways to draw the eye to certain areas. It’s fascinating work, but it does require you to be gone sporadically and home more sporadically still, and more often than not forcing you out of bed at six thirty in the morning to make an eight am meeting. You spare a quick press of your lips to her scalp, gently lifting each offending appendage and dropping them, carefully, back beside you. The process is reminiscent of slowly extracting oneself from the arms of a particularly enthused cephalopod. She doesn’t stir, squeezing her eyes tighter shut. You dress silently, illuminated by your own skin, brushing your teeth with the door shut to minimize what little noise there is, and tack a quick note on the mirror- ‘Gone All Day’. She has little to no interest in your schedule unless she has made plans but you still inform her, every morning, and she never responds.

Work is predictable- another business, some dry corporate place trying to make their offices more friendly to the all-knowing customer, and you are in and out before two, shaking a hand and giving a card, out of the doors and back onto the street. It’s not like you and she strictly need the money, per say, but both of you go more than a little, to borrow a phrase, shithive maggots unless you have something to do. Three year’s experience taught you as much, to be quite frank.

You navigate the subway system to Dave’s apartment, sitting pretty on the top floor of a towering behemoth of a building. It’s a gamble that he’ll even be awake right now, but this is important, and it is a gamble you are willing to run if it means a slightly more informed perspective.

You press on the intercom.

“Dave I Need To Talk To You It Is Urgent.”

“Yo Kanaya what are you doing what do you mean it’s urgent is this about my sister do I have to go fish her drunk ass out of some fancy-pants nightclub, what time is it anyways, two fifteen fuck I thought we had a little better control over her issues by now it’s two fucking pee em-”

“It Is About Rose But She Is Fine.” You cut him off. He sucks in air, and the door clicks open so you can ascend the elevator to his abode.

When he opens the door to let you in, he’s already been going full force, words spilling out of him at an alarming rate of fire as he walks across his living room.

“- about Rose is that she is never ‘Fine’ if you’re asking about her every single goddamn time it’s ‘Dave help me she’s drawn cats on all my books’ or ‘Dave why is she crying at the Notebook she hates that movie’ or ‘Dave tell me what to buy her for her birthday’ and that last one was just low, my birthday is the next fucking day Kanaya, how do you think I feel about that? You ignore my birthday in favor of Sassy McGrimdark over there and shit you had a reason to come, didn’t you? What is it?” He stops short, head whipping around to lock eyes with you.

“How Much Do You Know About The Human Concept Of Marriage?” Better get to the point. The heart of the matter. You could be obtuse and dance around it for hours if need be but you’re not up for another round of verbal sparring over the concept. Dave is silent, staring at you, his mouth slightly open and his eyes half-squinted. It’s a rare sight to see him without shades, even now, but this seems to be a special occasion.

“Damn.” He whistles, puffing his hair off his forehead. “Damn, Kanaya.” He paces up and down the small room a few times, dodging stray underwear and discarded Chinese food containers, running his hands through his hair. “You can’t.”

“What?” You look at him, tilting your head to the side. “Who Says I Cant?”

“Me. You’re too fucking young for this there’s no way that any of us are old enough to consider something like the rest of our lives right now I mean we’re immortal we’re not going to die the rest of our lives is a very very long-ass time and that’s not to even touch that we don’t know your lifespan, an-”

“I Am Ten Sweeps Old Dave!” You snap. He rolls his eyes.

“That’s not even the point, you’re twenty-one, yeah, you’re an adult and you and Rose have found some kind of perverse pleasure in living like adults and owning a house and having a job but that isn’t what we’re here for, we’re Gods, we should be lounging in our PJs and spinning sick beats not trying to marry each other.” He always flaps his arms when he talks, hands moving wildly, wide to side and up and down, trying to punctuate with spirit fingers.

“Im Just Here For Information.” Maybe a slightly more neutral tone will do better.

“I’m not going to give it to you. What, do you want to know what kind of fucking, I don’t know, champagne to serve?”

“How Do I Even Ask, Dave, She Dodged The Question With A Perfectly Executed Sidestep! I Dont Know How To Commit Myself To Her In Terms She Will Understand And That Is Essentially My Goal Here Not To Tangle Myself In A Mess Of-” you slip into Troll, growling at him, your ears raising and your lips curling back.

“Calm the fuck down.” He puts his hands up, palms splayed, and you can see his fingers twitch, instinctually trying to grab for his sword. “You love her, I get that, it’s romance and flowers as far as the fucking eyes can see, that’s fine. Whatever. It’s a huge deal to marry someone, and if you just want to tell her you love her take her to dinner or something, I don’t know, just-” his jaw tightens and you relax, or rather force yourself to look calm. “you can’t, okay? You fucking can’t. You can’t buy her a ring and get on a knee and ask her to spent the rest of her life with you you can’t do. This.”

“Yes You Have Made That Point Abundantly Clear.” A ring and a knee. That’s enough to start on. You can work with that. “Thank You.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He nods towards the door, and you step away, backing out of the door, into the hall.

When you get home, you grab Rose, kissing her before she has a chance to say hello. She is so confusing, humans are so confusing, they have so many rules and entanglements in who they live with and who they love and what that means to them. Having a fated partner is so much more simple, someone you know on a deep and undeniable level you were hatched to love, or to hate. Why did yours have to be an alien?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER FUCKING LATE. I am apology. Hopefully I can kick my butt into motivating me to finish this UwU

Your next plan of attack is a much less refined one. In theory, it would be best to ask a human about human issues. After the incident with Dave, however, you can’t really bring yourself to ask any of the others.  
Which leaves you with a handful of options.  
You manage to pull out your laptop the next evening, sitting on one of your plush couches, your knees drawn up and balancing the expensive machine.

\-------------grimAuxillatrix began trolling carcinoGeneticist at 14:13!------------

GA: Karkat Are You Available  
GA: I Will Take Your Silence As A Resounding No  
GA: Excuse Me For Attempting To Pull You Away From Your Incredibly Busy Life You Must Have So Much To Do And So Many Appointments To Make  
GA: That Was Sarcasm If That Wasnt Clear  
GA: Sigh  
CG: WHAT.  
GA: Oh There You Are I Was Beginning To Wonder If I Needed To Call The Medicinal Vehicle Or The Law Enforcement Personnel  
CG: GREAT TALKING TO YOU, TOO.  
CG: LONG TIME, NO CHATTING AND ALL THAT.  
GA: You As Well How Are You  
GA: And Yes I Am Asking In Sincerity  
CG: I’M FUCKING DANDY. ABSURDLY WELL. DOING SO WELL I PRACTICALLY SHOOT RAINBOWS OUT OF MY ASS.  
GA: Sarcasm  
CG: SARCASM.  
GA: I Did Have A Reason In Contacting You  
CG: IS IT ABOUT ROSE?  
GA: How Did You Know It Would Be About Rose  
CG: DAVE GAVE ME A PRIMER.  
CG: YOUR PLAN IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST PLAN OF ALL TIME. HUMANS ARE NOTORIOUS FOR FUCKING UP ‘MARRIAGE’ TO THE POINT WHERE THE VERY CONCEPT IS LAUGHABLE.  
CG: IT SPELLS DOOM FOR YOUR RELATIONSHIP.  
GA: Really  
CG: YES, REALLY, EVEN THOUGH THE MOVIES SAY OTHERWISE.  
CG: DON’T DO IT.  
GA: If I Were To Do It  
GA: Hypothetically  
GA: According To Cinema  
CG: ACCORDING TO CINEMA YOU EITHER HAVE TO HAVE HER STUMBLE LIKE AN IDIOT ON A RING, PROPOSE IN THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT, OR ARRANGE FOR SOME MASSIVE, ELABORATE REVEAL.  
CG: POSSIBLY INCLUDING A MARIACHI BAND.  
CG: SOME FLOWERS.  
CG: HUNDREDS OF LIVE WHITE WINGBEASTS.  
CG: 'JANE DUMBSHIT SMITH, WILL YOU MARRY ME?'  
GA: Sounds Complex  
CG: IT IS. FOR A FAILING CONCEPT HUMANS TAKE MARRIAGE VERY SERIOUSLY.  
GA: What I Am Gathering Is That A Ring Of Some Kind Is Needed And Then I Must Ask Very Seriously  
GA: Potentially Even Going As Far As Using Her Full Name Although I Have No Hint As To Her Middle Name  
GA: Humans Have That Right Middle Names Im Not Imagining Things  
CG: THEY DO. YOU’RE NOT COMPLETELY SHITHIVE MAGGOTS. AND YOU’VE GOT THE BASICS DOWN.  
GA: What A Relief  
CG: YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING DO IT, AREN’T YOU?  
CG: JUST DON’T COME BLUBBERING TO ME I HAVE NO SYMPATHY FOR NOOKCHAFFERS WHO DON’T LISTEN TO MY SAGE ADVICE.  
GA: I Will Cry Outside Your Hive  
GA: In The Rain  
GA: Like A Tiny Lost Meowbeast  
CG: UH HUH.  
CG: KANAYA?  
GA: Yes  
CG: GOOD LUCK.

\-------------carcinoGeneticist has stopped trolling grimAuxilliatrix at 14:57!-------------


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ring shopping is hard feat. disgruntled Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to tumblr user cantankerouskaputnik for helping me work out the plot for the rest of this fic! Spoiler: It's awesome.

Rings are easy enough to come by. Rings that Rose would conceivably wear are not. You spend the better part of your Monday googling alone in the house, clicking on link after link. There are brick and mortar stores you could go to but you doubt you’d find anything to her liking- their online selections are already intimating, and the price tags suggest that the jewelry is slightly more valuable than God.

So to your quietly humming laptop you went, scrolling through the vast reaches of the ring market, trying to at least narrow it down from the thousands of options into a more workable number. It’s slow going, and your bookmarks folder is quickly becoming a mess of long, unintelligible links that you have to scan over repeatedly to check for duplicates. The links must be rechecked every time you eye a new item, or consider _this_ cut of gem over _this_ cut, until you’re juggling the same link opened six or seven times and closing tabs maniacally every few moments. You get fed up with the notion of holding all the links as bookmarks, and open them all in a new window.

131 tabs explode onto your monitor.

You can practically hear your computer groan with the effort. You vocalize along with it, rubbing your temple with thumb and forefinger while your browser struggles under the weight of loading 131 separate pages. It will be worth it, you remind yourself, imagining her face when you ask. Imaginary Rose runs through all of these scenes with you. In one, she cries in earnest, hugging you and kissing your ear. In another, she keeps herself stoic as per usual, the slight twitch of her lip the only indicator of her internal status. She sometimes blushes, and sometimes barely reacts. You love every possibility, every sharp nod of her head of whispered ‘yes’, and are so distracted by mind’s eye Rose that you fail to notice the very real Rose sitting next to you. She’s staring straight ahead and you rush to change the window, bringing up your email. Thankfully, she doesn’t look like she’s seen anything, and she isn’t one to look over your shoulder anyways.

“Are You Practicing Your Stealth Love I Thought That Was Roxy’s Job.” You turn and smile at her and something is wrong. She looks drained, her eyes glassy and far away. “Are You Alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m fine thank you.” Her words come in a rush- I’mfinethankyou. The laptop is set aside and you scoot closer to her.

“Are You Positive I Could-”

“No, really, I’m alright.” After a moment’s deliberation, you gather her into your arms, rest your chin on her shoulder and look up at her. “I said I’m fine, there is no reason for you to fuss over me.” She stands, shrugging you off, and wanders upstairs. She’s been sick the past few days and she really needs to take some time to herself. You’ve been chalking it up to her working too hard (do Gods even get ill?) and now you’re not entirely sure. What she needs is cluckbeast soup and you, not avoidance. You suppress a sigh, just in time to hear the bath start.

You distinctly remember every time she bathes alone, because it is always a harbinger of doom. She bathes alone when she is anxious, or stressed, or so angry she fears she will snap her violin in two. What could she possibly have to be angry about? You contemplate traveling upstairs, knocking, asking her what’s wrong, but it would more than likely annoy her rather than help and you can’t do anything to help when she’s in the bathtub besides attempt to remember what it is that has her so upset. Unless, of course, you call her favorite Indian restaurant right now. What is this magic, you appear to have already dialed.

She comes downstairs an hour later to you juggling plates of curry for the two of you, trying to set up both the coffee table for a meal and the television for a movie and also remember to break out the shaved chocolate ice cream you’ve been hiding in the dark corner of the freezer for exactly this purpose. Rose stops at the foot of the steps, frozen, as though you had presented her with a pony.

“Hungry?” You set the plates down, turning to plop down on the couch. “You Seemed Like You Could Use A Slightly More Agreeable Dinner Than What I Am Able To Produce.” To be fair, you cooking isn't  _that_ bad, but the joke remains of the Incident With The Mac N Cheese.

“You really didn’t have to do anything,” she says, sitting with you. It takes her several long, torturous seconds to pick up her plate, accept your offering. She nibbles at her food and you turn on Guys and Dolls and forget, for a moment, that she is drawn and tense.

She goes to bed shortly after credits roll, and you wait an hour before following her, wrapping around her and kissing her scalp. _Matesprit, matesprit, matesprit._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emergency diplomacy tactics are implemented, and a decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be pretty quick- I have a lot of commission work to do but I have 90% of the next one written and ready to go!!!

It's been twelve days since you started implementing Emergency Diplomacy Tactics, and you've seen Rose for a grand total of maybe seven waking hours in that time. She’s been incredibly busy, from what you can tell, almost always locked away in her office. Sometimes, you hear her practice her violin, long, haughty strokes of her instrument that sing through the house. Sometimes, it is silence for hours. And sometimes, you can hear the faint tap of her keyboard as she produces new material, pausing occasionally for a sip of tea. Every time you see her, you greet her with a kiss, and she counters with a drawn smile. It’s made it difficult to enact your multi tactic plan.

Tactic one: Give her chocolate. You bought a box of the best chocolates you could find, each drizzled with some manner of glaze and stuffed with cherries. They’re too sweet for your tastes, but she claims to love them. The box is left, conspicuously open, on the counter for her to find. The next time you wander through the kitchen, they are gone. 

Tactic two: refusing to refute even the most inane of television suggestions. Rose has a thing for a show about decorating cakes, and you find it unbearably dull, but she loves it. Thus, when she switches to that channel, you just wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss her cheek. You think she suspects something when she side eyes you, scooting infinitesimally farther away. 

Tactic three: flowers. Purple lilies, to be precise. She has mentioned a fondness for them and you bought two dozen on the way home from work, arranging them prettily in a large, glass vase. Their petals bounce as you carry them, vibrant and bright and so very alive. You bring this up to her room, along with a mug of her favorite steaming hot tea, and she thanks you before asking to be left alone.

The ring arrived two weeks ago, an ornate black gold band, interwoven with tentacles and topped with a deep purple stone. You think it would be something suited to her ‘style’, although it is a far cry from a more traditional piece of jewelry. It is stuffed in a sock in one of your drawers, hidden from her. Hopefully. She’s been insufferable lately and you have been doing your best to dote on her, even as she rebukes you at every turn. But you love her, and that’s what matters. Even if she is having a rough patch you will be there for her, of course you will. That’s what this plan is all about- human marriage, being with someone forever. No matter what.

You have taken to waking before her, laying in bed to watch her breathe. She mumbles in her sleep, lines of prose that will never be written, jokes that only she can hear. Today, she is restless, turning onto her back and wiggling. With deft fingers, you brush her fairy blonde hair out of her face, tracing the patterns of the veins on her skin. She shifts and sighs, her mouth curling into a smile. You see her eyes begin to flutter open and you quickly catch her lips with yours, waking her with a kiss. There is simply so much adoration for her in you and you try to convey that, pressing to her lips your hopes and dreams and fears and she opens her eyes, staring right at you. After a moment’s hesitation, she’s kissing back, her arms wrapping around your back to pull you down into something more feral, more visceral. 

That night, Dave brings her home drunk.

She stumbles into your arms, slurring about this or that or that other, and you idly rub her back. She presses against you for a moment more before ricocheting off to bed, leaving you dizzy and with the mildly sober Strider alone in your living room.

“Is She Alright?” You ask. Better to get to the heart of the matter. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’ she be?” Dave lets his words drag, leaning on your entryway wall. “She kept callin you pretty, Kan.”

“She Has Been Avoiding Me.” You watch him for any reaction, his face as impenetrable as always. 

“She’s nervous. Doesn’t wanna fuck up what y’all have, y’know? She lo- she likes you, and she doesn’t want to do anything wrong.” He shrugs a shoulder, surprisingly candid. You nod, contemplating. It makes a certain level of sense, as much sense as a Lalonde can make. “Should be avoidin’ you less now. Keepin’ you closer.”

“Thank You. Did She Accuse You Of Incestuous Fantasies Again?” You quirk the corner of your mouth into a smile. 

“Only th’ best from our Rosie.”

When he leaves, you tiptoe upstairs to a passed out Rose, face down on your bed. She loves you. You love her. You glance to the drawer where you’ve hidden the ring.

It’s definitely time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU ARE HIGHLY ENCOURAGED TO LEAVE COMMENTS!!! Nothing makes me happier than reader comments ogosh uwu


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The proposal, the perfect plan, and Rose. (Please read notes for this one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THESE IT IS VERY IMPORTANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> There is a sister ficlet to this chapter, the link to which is available at the author's notes at the end of this chapter. It features Dave and Rose being snarky siblings.
> 
> So, the illustrations in this fic are done by 2spooky4rudy on tumblr, USUALLY known as hylianrudolf (if you're viewing this post October). THEY TAKE COMMISSIONS! AND COULD REALLY USE THEM!!! AND THEY HAVE VERY REASONABLE PRICES!!! I also take commissions at grimdarkthroes on tumblr, along with offering roleplaying tutoring.  
> Thank you so much for reading this!

Three days later and you think you are going to die of excitement. Rose has ceased avoiding you, even going as far as to seek you out to talk. She keeps her words formal and her touches chaste, but she is talking to you again, which is a welcome relief. You don’t press what got into her- if she’s nervous, then it is your job to keep her comforted, not add to her stress.

Step one of The Plan begins during breakfast. She is spreading jam on toast across from you when you raise your head from the paper, and very calmly, ask. “Would You Like To Go To Dinner Tonight?”

She blinks, continuing to spread the gelatinous fruit.

“That sounds lovely. Did you have something in particular in mind, or were you suddenly ceased with a deep desire to eat a meal which you will not have to clean?”

“Reservations Have Been Made.” She smirks, and you look sweetly innocent in return.

“Very well, then. Black tie?”

“Black Tie.” The day is a blur, the hours simultaneously whizzing by and dragging interminably, neither of you speaking much. She’s got an article to finish and you are replying to a dozen emails, both trying to clear your work out of the way. Pretending to be adults, as Dave so kindly put it.

That evening, she showers separately from you, which gives you time to fiddle with the ring, turning it over in your hands, letting the stone catch the light and shimmer. This is really happening. This is something you and her are going to do and you’re going to kiss her when she says yes, you’re going to run your lips over her jaw and cling to her because she is divine and you are a poor comparison.

The jewelry is stuffed back into its sock just as she exits the bathroom, steam curling around her naked form, a towel wrapped around her head.

“Why are you fussing with the sock drawer? Does it contain the secrets of the universe?” Rose steps closer and you try to casually slide it shut. Not now, Rose, not now- you scramble for an excuse, staring at her.

“I Cannot Find One Of My Foot Height Socks And It Is Completely Unacceptable To Wear Mismatched Socks Even If They Are Both Black And I May Have To Risk Blisters To Simply Wear The Nice Green Heels.” You get the words out in a rush, your girlfriend already sifting through the closet, in search of something to wear. Crisis averted.

“Your ability to coordinate is stunning. Now, help me pick something to wear.” You step behind her, placing one hand on her hip, and murmur suggestions while she trails her hand along your back.

Once the two of you are settled at you table (Step Two), you reach across to her, twining your fingers together. Maybe now? No, there is a third step and by the mother grub you are going to make this for her. You are going to give her the best proposal of anyone because she deserves it, she deserves everything. She picks up the wine menu and you give her a Significant Look, to which she rolls her eyes. You need her sober, tonight, as much as you are willing to indulge the occasional glass (or ten).

After dinner, you suggest a walk (Step Three) and she obliges, linking her arm in yours. You kiss her head, pull her along the long and twisting paths of the city you have made home until you end up in the park by the creek. On accident. Of course. The two of you are making your way to the bridge that divides the two sides of grassy slopes, each sprinkled with the odd evening walker. Many are walking dogs, one woman is jogging, and an even smaller percentage are couples, holding hands or wrapped around their partners. The bridge itself is faded, white paint cracked in places like scars, and the wood creaks when you step, no matter how gently. You still adore it. It’s where Rose first said that she loved you on this planet, and it’s where you are going to enact your Plan. The pair of you walk in comfortable silence, squeezing your hands together and keeping your bodies close.

The ring in your pocket is burning. Your bloodpusher climbs to a gallop, and you steadfastly ignore it. There is only so much you can do, however, to calm the frantic pace of your breathing.

“Are you alright?” Rose almost looks panicked, scanning you up and down with her gorgeous eyes. She’s worried for you and you want her to be relaxed, you need her to be here with you and not worrying about the state of your health. “I Am Doing Quite Well, Actually.” You smile as the two of you climb on the bridge, the slats squealing under your heels. An older man on the other end of the bridge spares you a glance, far from the only other person in the park, but the only one- so far- who has seemed to register your presence. He gives you a knowing smile and you have to contain your excitement, flashing him the box behind your back. “Perhaps We Could Stop Here, For A Moment?”

She nods, looking out to the creek, watching the water that was made in part by her flow away, out into the distance with swift efficiency. She’s serene when she contemplates, and you give her several long, long moments to gaze at the horizon, and the dusky blue-grey of evening settles over both of you. The water is clear, today, rushing below your feet and into the distance, the last light of the setting sun sparkling along the surface. Soon, however, enough is enough. You have a very important question to ask.

“Rose?”

“Hmm?” She turns to face you and you go dizzy with how your nerves are jangling, hands on the edge of trembling and she looks worried. Even more worried as you slide down on one knee as you had observed so many movie men do, producing the small velvet box from thin air, holding it forward, lid open.

“Rose Lalonde, Will You Marry Me?” You get it out in one breath and time stops. You can hear the water rushing below you, the sway of the faint wind. Even though the weather is brisk you feel all too warm, your ears and cheeks burning, holding your absurd position. Why is it one knee? Your dress is going to get smudged with dirt and you don’t care, you’re doing this, you’re doing this right now. It’s okay, you remind yourself. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, you love her so much and so deeply and you can’t imagine doing this for or with anyone else in the multiverse. It’s perfect, you did it perfectly. You took her to the best food in town, you made sure to be wearing her favorite dress and you did everything, you made this perfect for her. Always for her. Forever for her. It’s an unhealthy sentiment but it doesn’t matter in this moment, right here, on this bridge with your knee pressed to the ground and your arms lifting up, offering to her. Offering your life.

You glance up at her violet gaze. Her eyes are wide- shocked- and you almost giggle. Really, didn’t you see this coming, my love, my light? Your pulse pounds in your ears, a roar of thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump, and you count the crashes, getting to fifty eight before you realize she hasn’t said a word.

What?

Her head twitches, slowly at first, and then she’s shaking her head back and forth.

_What._

“No.” It’s a whisper, barely above a hiss. She keeps shaking her head, faster now. “N- no, Kanaya, I- I can’t-” and she turns, walking quickly away from you, her jacket pulled tight around her body and she’s walking away from you and you are frozen in place, your arms slowly lowering.

Your companion on the bridge walks away, the slats adjusting to his shifting weight as he walks by. He just saw you fail. You have failed. You lost. You lost  _everything_ and you've lost  _Rose_ and what are you supposed to do, how are you supposed to handle this situation she was supposed to say yes and you were going to kiss her and lift her up and she's gone, away, and  _she said no._

It’s hard to tell exactly when you start crying. Maybe it was as you stood, head spinning and legs shaking with the effort. Maybe it was as you remembered you’re still clutching the ring box, the small weight feeling like a boulder. Maybe it was as you started after her, already a hundred feet away and disappearing fast.

The next noise that comes out of you is befitting of a dying meowbeast. You can feel your bloodpusher snap, skipping a beat as the world crumbles around you, and you are too isolated to register where you are going, simply that your legs are carrying you to the road.

You watch her climb into a taxi and you can scarecly manage to choke out her name, arms useless and limp on your sides, the box in full view and they know, everyone knows, everyone can see you and you keen, tears pouring down your cheeks, staining your skin jade. You limp your way into a taxi of your own and give the driver your address between gasped breaths.

The house is empty when you stumble through the door. You rush up the stairs, yanking down a bag and shoving essentials into it, messy handfuls of clothes and toothbrush and it smells like her, it all reeks of her. There is no plan, no fallback, no recourse because there is nothing that can be done. She's gone, Rose is gone and _you_ have ruined it. Your vision swims as you fight another wave of agonized sobs.

You fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome! ^u^  
> Sister Fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/986925


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanaya visits Karkat and indulges herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School year's heating up and I'm taking place in both LadyStuck AND GiftStuck this year, which means updates will be about 2ish weeks apart on AA, more if I get more commission work. :(  
> I love this story, though, there is no way I could abandon it!

It’s not entirely clear to you how you ended up on Karkat’s doorstep. You remember exiting the house, seeing a glimpse of Rose out of the corner of your eye and feeling a knife twist in your gut. You remember clutching your bag hard enough that the fabric began to stretch and worry beneath your fingertips. You remember wandering the streets, at night, alone, which is never a good thing to do but especially not in your emotionally compromised state.

The sharp pain in you has reached a fever pitch, enough that you thought you were going to expel the contents of your digestive sac into some poor slob’s lawn. It’s a needle in your gut, a scorpion in your intestines, crawling along every millimeter of you until you can barely see straight, your head spinning. You find your way to the subway system, your own misery echoing off of the walls and back at yourself. It’s a weekend night and the crowd is drunks, tourists and dates. The latter category makes you want to hiss, grab their shoulders and scream that they don’t know how goddamned _good_ they have it, how they should grab their partners and keep them close or alternatively how they don’t deserve to look at each other like that. They’re not you. They can’t possibly know how it feels to be in love and you have and now it’s gone and you are keening, again, knees shaking as you collapse into the subway. The ride feels interminable, even with your destination only a hazy half-remembered instinct. You contemplate curling on the too hard seat, sleeping on the yellow plastic in a bundle of your own misery and snot. It would be fitting. It would all be fitting.

So you end up at Karkat’s.

  
He takes his time coming to the door, obviously not expecting someone this late at night. You lived with humans so long that both your and his sleep wake cycle is completely flipped, night to day, nocturnal to diurnal.

“KANAYA, WHAT THE EVERLASTING FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” His tone is almost gentle. Almost kind. It makes you growl, lips curling because you don’t need his pity ( _you need his pity by God you need his pity_ ) and you don’t need his help ( _please help me I don’t know what I’m doing anymore please_ ) and you push past him inside, using your stature to your advantage. He doesn’t object to your movement, simply sidestepping out of the way. “LISTEN, I KNOW YOU’RE ABOUT AS STABLE RIGHT NOW AS A GIBBERING MUCKBEAST COVERED IN ITS OWN EXCREMENT BUT YOU NEED TO LOOK AT ME.” He crosses his arms. “LOOK AT ME.” There it is, the old leader voice. You turn, slowly, letting him soak up the full brunt of your despair.

“There Is Nothing To Be Done All Of Your Efforts Of Which I Am Sure You Have Many Would Simply Be Wasted On Me.” Your voice cracks halfway through and you clutch your bag tighter. It still reeks of her. It still makes you think of blonde hair and pale skin and gentle hands that wind around your waist and there you go again, on your knees. Your friend and former leader rolls his eyes.

“STAND UP. DO NOT GIVE ME ANY GRIEF ABOUT THIS JUST GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND STAND. UP.” You want to but you want to make him see how much it hurts, first, curling in on yourself and on the bag and you want to inhale its scent forever even though it makes you ill. It’s the last thing you have of her, after all, and you need to remember it, burn it into your thinkpan because you cannot have it taken away from you ( _get it away from me_ ).

“ONE MORE TIME, ASSHOLE. STAND UP.” His hand is outstretched towards you and you take it with shaking fingers. He yanks and you are brought up, dizzy and wavering. His living room spins and you wobble, clutching his hand, the bag hanging limp from the other. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO BE A BULGE MUNCHING IDIOT SO YES I DO HAVE A PLACE FOR YOU TO SLEEP IF YOU WANT TO SLEEP HERE WHICH OBVIOUSLY YOU DO BECAUSE FUCK ME IF YOU’RE GOING TO TRY TO FIND A HOTEL AT THIS TIME OF NIGHT WHILE YOUR FACE DOES THE FUCKING TROLL NOAH IMPERSONATION OF THE CENTURY. YOU LOOK LIKE A MESS THAT WAS FORCED THROUGH A MEET GRINDER.” His face turns red, gripping your palm tighter. You blink, eyelashes crusting together into an uncomfortable, salty mass. Suddenly, his feet are moving and so are yours, leading you into his bedroom. Oh. There is an extra recuperacoon set up for you, steam gently curling off of the slime and how did he know you prefer warm slime to room temperature slime? Probably a lucky guess, you’re high blooded enough to start to waver on cold blooded. Warm slime was a favorite since you were a young troll and it reminds you- reminded you- of the Sun and oh, fuck, Sun and Light and yellow and orange and you whimper while Karkat grips you tighter.

“Are You Sure This I-Is Acceptable I Could Go I Could Still Go And Leave You Without A Pathetic Worthless Body To Keep Living.” He practically shoves you at the coon, his voice barely above a growl.  
“YOU’RE NOT WORTHLESS. STRIP YOUR ASS DOWN AND GET IN ALREADY. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU EVEN SLEPT IN ONE OF THESE?” Not since before the game, not really, because there was no slime and then there was Rose and then. And then.

You pull off your clothes, not even bothering to fold them, leaving them in a sad trail as you walk to the biological construct made into a bed. It’s so deliciously warm, and you sink into the florescent green with a stuttering sigh, your cheeks slowly drying into crusty imitations of their former selves. You sink in, crossing your legs over each other how you used to when you were five, the viscous neon green solution clinging to your skin, making movement slow and weightless. Karkat’s in his own across from you, his arms crossed on the lip of the coon, his head rested on his forearm. It smells sickly-sweet, harsh, stinging. Your muscles begin to melt beneath you, mind wavering in and out of alertness, a slow trickle of relaxants seeping into your blood. Your eyes flutter and you sink lower, you nose barely above the surface of the sopor.

“GO TO SLEEP. WE’LL FIGURE YOUR SHIT OUT IN THE MORNING.”

“Meddling Is My Job Damn It,” you counter, “I Do Not Understand Why I Am Being Treated As Though I Am One Again And In Desperate Need Of My Lusus To Hand Feed Me Mashed Wingbeasts.”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE FUCKING ACTING LIKE IT IS WHY.” His eyes have slid shut, feet surfacing on the opposite end of him with a slurp. You keep your eyes on him, watch him slowly drift down and off to unconsciousness.

You mouth is still beneath the surface of the sopor slime, your nose smelling nothing but sugar and sleep and comfort. The heating element on the bottom turns off with a click, preventing you from burning yourself. And it is silent.

Rose indulged, didn’t she?

You open your mouth. It’s not sweet like it smells, no, it burns in your mouth and down your throat, harsh enough to make you cough up the small mouthful you managed to take. Persistence, however, is the key to glory and it wasn’t pleasant at first for _her_ was it, no, it wasn’t you saw her faces, you saw her sour expression and her squinted eyes and you open your mouth again, force yourself to swallow and it stings like acid and bitter horseradish that Rose insists on putting on her food and there’s Rose again in your mind and you swallow, again, jaw working to draw more into your body. If you’re going to do this you’re going to do it properly and it’s not like there isn’t more, the tap is right there. You’ll just... pour more in while Karkat’s asleep. That’s right. That’s the perfect plan.

The world is moving too slow, colors blooming and pulsing in your vision, your head suddenly far too heavy to support itself. What’s that noise? It’s... it’s your heart, pounding and rushing in your ears. You blink, trying to orient yourself, and laugh at the absurdity of the situation you find yourself in because it’s hilarious, isn’t it? This is the funniest thing you have done in sweeps and you smile, lounging back in the ooze, your eyes fluttering shut as you watch the light show with half attention. Your body feels weightless, limbs flicking in and out of your perceptions. It doesn’t matter, does it? None of it. The ring still in your pile of clothes- heh, pile- and the rejection of your beloved. No, not at all. Nothing in this world matters. You bring your hand up from the slime, splay your fingers to let sticky bridges form between them that you lick off.

You’re fine.

The next noise you hear, distantly, is your phone, Rose’s ringtone blasting through your senses.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when things couldn't possibly get worse, they somehow do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, friends, I don't plan on simply churning out angst from here on in. Thank you for your continued patience with me and with this story!

By the time you manage to register the ring tone you had so stupidly designated for Rose, it’s morning, and the line has been dead for mothergrub knows how long. The light shining through the windows in Karkat’s room is a small comfort, along with the slime you are coated in. Karkat’s coon is empty, but you can hear him stomping about somewhere off in the indeterminate distance. You heave yourself out of the goo, stumbling on the landing. Fuck, your head hurts. Fuck, what happened last- and it hits you all over again, one knee Rose lover Rose knee running crying Karkat slime stinging phone.

Phone.

You rush to the shower, rubbing the sopor off of your skin as quickly as you can under a hot stream. Rose, oh, God, Rose, you need to find a way to apologize- or- to take it back- _something_ to make this right. You can’t _do this_ , you _need her_ , the pain is as real as any cut in your chest and you are already toweling off, your hair a damp and matted mess on your face. You clamber out of the bathroom on unsteady legs and look around for your clothes. When did everything become so bright? And painful? Your legs are barely holding you up and you drop to your knees, naked, breathing hard through your mouth. Is this what a hangover is? Or is it simply the physical side effect of last night’s argument?

By the time you scramble to your phone, Karkat is in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His look is concerned, harsh features softened and rounded into something you would almost call pity. Although, you admit, you probably cut a fairly pitiful figure, groping for your electronics in nothing but your hatching suit and fighting through the haze of the remnants of sopor poisoning.

You finally manage to grab the device, turning the black face on. The background stabs you, flaring to life on the screen to remind you of exactly what it is you’ve done. It’s Rose, at the gardens outside town. Her face is partially obscured by a massive sunflower, her lips pushed in half of a smile and one hand on her forehead, protecting her eyes from the sun. She’s completely still, looking up at something off screen and to the left, and you remember her turning to smile properly at you as soon as she heard the phone’s camera click.

One missed call, from “Rose Lalonde”. A small mercy that you never gave her a cute name in your phone- you think she still has you down as “Kanyolo”, a tribute to her days on the meteor butchering your name. You slide your finger across the screen, unlock the phone, and glance to Karkat. He nods. His mouth stays shut, but he nods. You click to call her back. She picks up on the third ring. You nearly cry in relief. Now, you can explain to her what you meant, you can tell her about matesprit and matesprit and you can clarify just how much she means to you. Just how far you would be willing to go for her. You can tell her that no, it’s okay if you never human marry because that’s not what it’s about, it’s about the fact that you love her and she loves you and all that matters is you stay together because you cannot conceive of a life without your fated partner.

“Rose I Just Wanted To-”

"Listen, Kanaya." You hear her breathing, long and deep, on the other end of the line. "I realize this relationship, what we have, is no longer sufficient for your needs. Which is completely acceptable, you are approaching the age where one thinks about marriage and long term commitment." You try to say something, anything, your mouth suddenly gone dry. No, Rose, you have to wrong. Rose, don't do this. Your vocal cords are frozen, lungs hardly pulling in enough air to survive. "Which is why I think it would be best if we parted our ways here." How is she so calm? What is she doing? "Hopefully, we can remain friends. I also understand if you do not see that as a possibility." She waits for you to respond. The air is heavy between your end and hers and you can hear the way she's shifting, back and forth, probably on your bed and half-awake, like when you draw circles on her skin and map her out with your hands for the thousandth time, just as good as the first and- Rose, what are you doing?

Silence. More silence.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is quiet, unsure. For the first time in your recent memory, it wavers.

You hang up without a word.

Karkat’s there in an instant, grabbing you even as you try to push him away, wrapping your arms around the empty hole where you were killed. It’s a puckered scar now, but the wound feels like it’s on fire, eating you alive from the inside out. You are reminded of a documentary you once saw on space, how sometimes, stars get so big they destroy themselves, coalesce and collapse down to a single, black pit that sucks down matter into its depths. A black hole. It was a beautiful thing to witness, really. Something so massive brings itself to a peak of light and radiation and then it dies, shrinking, back down into the depths and dragging everything it can along with it.

Rose is gone.

Rose is gone, forever.

She’s gone and you can’t do anything to get her back because she’s left you.

“She Was My Fated!” You don’t realize you’re saying this until it’s too late, shouting into Karkat’s scratchy sweater. He trills, clicking his tongue in response to your native language.

“LISTEN, KANAYA. WE WILL FIND A WAY THROUGH THIS DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE GIVE UP ON HER OR ME NOW. WE WILL GET HER BACK TO YOU BECAUSE SHE KNOWS JUST LIKE YOU KNOW THAT SHE’S YOUR MATESPRIT,” he uses the up-down, the serious one, the one that means forever and she’s gone. Icy tendrils snake around your bloodpusher, whisper to you to just _give up now_. You scream, trying to push past him, where is your lipstick you need to _kill something_ you need to feel something _hurt_ just as much as you’re hurting.

The sting of last night is _nothing_ to the torture of now because last night you were still her girlfriend and now you’re her _nothing_. Karkat grips you tighter. He grunts. He forces you on the ground, flat on your back.

“GET SOME CONTROL OVER YOURSELF.” You growl, trying to kick him off. He leans down, bites your shoulder (left side, not lover's side) and you yelp, his blunt teeth managing to break your skin, tearing it open to let jade spill out. Pain is the only language you speak right now and he understands you, digging his claws into your arms and pressing his knees on your thighs, keeping you pinned. You thrash ineffectively, trying to wrestle out of his space. He’s strong, however, stronger than you, having kept up with his training since the end and you hadn’t. You had been too busy with Rose and you didn’t want to overpower her or hurt her, ever, letting your trollish muscles slim to nearly human proportions over the long years.

Karkat knees you in the groin and you wince, pulling yourself into a small protective ball and he has your phone in one hand, holding you down with the other. You hear it ring, the cycle of high pitched vibrations continuing until- there it is. Rose’s voice breaks through, the same prerecorded message you’ve heard a hundred thousand times before.

“YOU SHITSUCKING MORON. ARE YOU COMPLETELY PANFRIED?” He’s speaking in English, rough and painfully loud. “WHAT THE SHIT IS YOUR PROBLEM? YOU DECIDE TO TURN DOWN HER PROPOSAL, FINE, THAT’S NOT MY FUCKING PROBLEM AND NOT MY FUCKING BUSINESS. BUT THEN YOU GRAB THAT PHONE AND YOU BREAK UP WITH HER, AFTER SHE’S ALREADY EXPLICITLY FUCKING SAID YOU’RE HER FATED PARTNER? THAT’S FUCKING OUT OF LINE. YOU AND DAVE CAN GO SHOVE YOUR BULLSHIT COMMITMENT ISSUES UP EACH OTHER'S ASSES. KANAYA. LOVES. YOU. YOU PICK UP YOUR FUCKING PAN FROM THE TINY USELESS PEICES YOU HAVE RIPPED IT INTO, AND APOLOGIZE.” He flings the phone and it tumbles against your dress. “NOW FOCUS. WE’RE GOING TO FIX THIS, KANAYA.” He's back to Alternian. You’re yanked up from the ground. Your bag is shoved into your arms. You are instructed to dress yourself and you do, wiggling up into an extremely plain blue dress that covers you and nothing more.

“Like What? What Can Possibly Be Done?” He pushes you to the door of his bedroom. You walk along with him, too tired and angry and stressed to resist in any real way.

“WE’RE GOING TO HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love comments!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something of a truce is reached.

You are taken to his kitchen and sat on a hard wooden chair, pressed too close to his dining table. It’s cheap and wobbles and you’re pretty sure you should abort this conversation and drag him to IKEA. That’d be good, you think. Some, as Roxy would say, retail therapy. In this case getting your friend an acceptable eating surface and perhaps a better couch and he definitely needs a new desk that- thing- is definitely from the meteor.

  
He sits across from you, turning his chair around to straddle it. One hand cradles his cheek in a near perfect posture of helpful understanding. It’s condescending, frankly. You don’t need his pity (you want his pity). Wait, what?

  
“SHE LOVES YOU. SHE’S AFRAID TO COMMIT TO YOU. THE DIFFERENCE IS MINUSCULE BUT CRUCIAL.” He runs his index finger along the edge of the table, using his nail to scrape off some loose paint. The pause gives you a minute to gather your thoughts, slow your breathing down to something approximating a reasonable pace. “IF THERE’S ONE THING SHE’S GOING TO BE COMPLETELY, CATASTROPHICALLY SHIT AT IT’S ADMITTING TO HERSELF THAT SHE LOVES YOU ENOUGH TO BE WITH YOU FOREVER. SHE’S A TREMBLING, OBTUSE SQUEAKBEAST WITH HER HEAD SO FAR UP HER OWN ASS SHE CAN SEE HER TONGUE.” You glance listlessly to the space directly above his left shoulder, listening to the familiar clicks and trills of his speech. “SO YOUR BEST PLAN OF ACTION IS GOING TO BE TO APOLOGIZE, LET HER APOLOGIZE, HIDE THE RING, AND MOVE ON.”

  
“And Forget About My Assurance That She Loves Me On That Deep Level.”

  
He slaps his palm to his forehead, barely suppressing a rumbling growl as it bubbles up from his chest.  
“KANAYA MARYAM I SWEAR TO FUCK YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO WHAT I’M SAYING. SHE DOES PITY YOU IN THAT MOST SNIVELING, RIDICULOUS FASHION HUMANS CALL LOVE. IF SHE WEREN’T PARALYZED BY HER OWN DAMAGED PAN I’M SURE YOU’D BE PLANNING YOUR DUMB HUMAN WEDDING-” You sniff and he sighs- “SORRY.”

  
“Apology Tentatively Accepted.” ‘Accepted’ is spoken flatly, as close as you can get to sarcasm without causing massive offense. You don’t want to have him kick you to the street.

  
“YEAH. SO, GET YOUR PHONE.” What?

  
“What?”

  
“YOU’RE DOING THIS NOW. IF THERE’S ONE THING THAT SHOUDN’T BE LEFT TO STEW IT’S THIS. GO.” He shifts, switching the hand his head is balanced on. “NOW.” His eyebrows raise and you are frozen, your jaw clenching and unclenching underneath your cheeks. Call Rose? Now? After she had just left you literally twenty minutes ago? There’s no way you can reasonably be expected to do that. You shake your head, eyes wide, and he begins to growl. His lips pull back from his teeth, eyes fixated on you. You’re standing while he stares at you. You walk, slowly, torturously, to the bedroom, picking up your phone. You can barely do this much, forget about dialing her number, forget about even speaking to her.

  
Karkat continues to stare and you call.

  
The phone rings, your breath frozen in your chest. You place the phone down on the table on speaker, nearly collapsing back into your seat.

  
Her voice crackles on the line, cutting off the eighth mechanical ring.

  
“Hello?” You touch a finger to your cheek, still salty and damp.

  
“Hello Rose.” Her breathing shakes. You trace an aimless pattern on the table with a finger, and glance up to Karkat. He gives you a small nod, eyes settled on you. “Vantas Believes We Are Acting Like Wrigglers.”

  
“That...” she pauses. You can almost imagine her, curled on the couch, her knees up near her chin. Maybe she’s been crying, too, you’ve seen her face puffy and red and pitiable. You’ve wiped away those tears and kissed the salt from her eyelids. “May be an accurate assessment of our current state, yes.” You snort.

  
“Perhaps We Could Talk About This As Adults.”

  
“If the stars are in alignment and the moon is in the right phase, I may be able to dredge up something resembling maturity.” Her voice is getting thicker and you think you hear her sniff over the static of the telephone connection. “I... can’t marry you, Kanaya.”

  
“I Realize That.” It comes out harder than you wanted it to. You can almost hear her wince.

  
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear beforehand. That was my mistake, and I do not expect to walk away from it.”

  
“Perhaps It Would Be Best If We Were To Simply Put It Behind Us As An Error Of Judgement On My Part.” You are obviously not wife material. At least, not to her. You shiver and Karkat offers a hand, which you take with shaking fingers.

  
“Are you sure that is something you want to do? You seemed fairly keen on attempting to woo me last night. In fact, I would argue your sole purpose for going to such lengths was to entice me to marry you.” She suddenly takes a turn for bitter and you bristle, squeezing his hand in yours.

  
“I Only Wanted To Marry If You Wanted To. Believe It Or Not Rose This Was About Both Of Us Not Just Me I Know I Can Give You A Moment To Process.” Tensions rise again, the hair on the back of your neck standing up. Why are you doing this now? This is the worst idea ever. She sighs, heavy and tired.

  
“If you say so.” She’s on the defensive. “Perhaps... we should allow this to pass as a blotch on our otherwise spotless record as a xenohomosexual couple.”

  
“Like I Suggested.”

  
“Yes, darling, like you suggested.” She’s breaking out the pet names, now. That’s not a good sign. You're about to offer a rebuttle when you hear her inhale. “You’re right. It was unreasonable of me to think you could read my mind and understand my hesitance to commit. It was a bad idea for you to try to propose to me. This was a clusterfuck in every possible way it could have been a clusterfuck and it would be better for both of us to forget it happened and move on.” You take a moment, processing her words. She wants to forgive you for loving her so much you would commit your life to her. And you want to forgive her for rejecting you.

  
“Rose?”

  
“Yes?”

  
“May I Come Home?” Tears prick at your eyes again and you swallow them down, determined not to let the pain get the best of you. Not this time.

  
“I would be grateful if you did. See you soon?”

  
“Very Soon. Goodbye.” You hang up and exhale, collapsing forward onto the plastic eating surface, and sob. Karkat lets go of your hand, standing to wrap you in his arms, his head resting between your shoulder blades. You’re so weak, you feel like you’ve run a marathon without water or rest and your mouth is dry and gummy, aching for hydration. “How Am I Supposed To Drink Now?” That’s a bizarre and stupid thing to think about, now of all times. Your friend pulls you up, rolling up his sleeve in silence.

  
Mutant blood finds its way to your mouth, his wrist anchored firmly under your fangs. He doesn’t react to your ministrations, for once completely silent. By the time you pull back he’s a shade paler and unsteady on his feet. It's better then leaving you unfed. You'll make it up to him later.

  
“YOU DID GOOD, KANAYA. I WOULD GIVE YOU A FUCKING MEDAL BUT I THINK YOU’D HATE MORE SHIT TO CARRY HOME.” He cracks a grin and you do too, walking to his bedroom to gather your things, cramming them in your bag. You’re going home to Rose. You giggle at the absurdity of it, zipping the bag and flinging it over one shoulder.

  
“Thank You. For Everything.” You offer Karkat a smile and he softens his face to something close.

  
“YOU’RE WELCOME. NEXT TIME YOU NEED ME TO COME SAVE YOUR ASS LET ME KNOW.” He nearly shoves you out the door, blinking in the sun.

  
The ride home is a blur, frankly. You don’t pay attention to where you’re going, giving the taxi driver a wad of crumpled twenties in payment. It was probably way too much. You don’t care. You stumble up the steps to your house, tasting copper blood and icy air. The door unlocks and the house feels cold, the sort of freezing homes get when no one is around to maintain them.

  
Rose rounds the corner, turning to face you. She’s a mess. Her hair sticks up in random directions, eyes swollen and red above a running nose. Her lips are chapped and she looks too small, too fragile, like a half deflated balloon. The only clothes she’s wearing are a pair of sweatpants and a sweater, three sizes too large. You drop your bag, closing the door behind you with a small click. She walks towards you, her feet dragging on the hard wood.

  
You meet her halfway. She collapses into your arms and you hold her there, rocking her back and forth against your chest, purring. The pair of you stand silently, neither one of you wanting to admit you’re crying. She pulls back just enough to straighten up, kissing you with the utmost delicacy, like she’s afraid you’ll vanish into thin air if she’s even a smidgen too rough. You reciprocate, and you end up simply resting your lips together, both simply wanting to move.

  
“Are We Still Together?” You ask this softly, gripping her a little tighter.

  
“Yes. If you’re okay with the idea.” Her voice is nearly gone. “I’m sorry, Kanaya.” The apology comes with none of the over elaborate gestures you’re used to. There is no snark here, no attempt at a passive aggressive bid for attention. Just a young woman sincerely offering her regret.

  
“Of Course.” You nuzzle your nose to hers. “I Love You My Matesprit.”

  
Up-up intonation.

  
You think you can live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after this it's just the epilogue to go! I do still take suggestions for writing for any and all other writing projects, if you're interested in more of me!


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later, an impromptu brunch date comes bearing good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illustration done by hylianrudolf, who you should all run and commission because they are great and very kind and obviously very talented! So please- go give them a gander!

A sweep and a half later, and you have mostly forgotten about the fiasco with your attempts to marry. The ring was, by agreement, kept in a lockbox in the attic where it will sit as a very expensive reminder of your mistakes. The subject was dropped. You went back to using the less serious intonation of a lot of words; words like love, matesprit, fated, to try to keep Rose happy. It had worked, for the most part. And you were able to slowly, steadily let it go. _You love her_ , you remind yourself whenever the topic comes up in your mind. _You love her and you wouldn’t want to ruin what you have for a silly human ritual and a scrap of paper_. Mostly, it worked. Mostly, you were able to settle into your life with her, watching her write the novel she has grappled with since she was a teenager or play her violin with increasing skill, spending long days in your garden while Rose stubbornly insists she will light aflame if she exits the house.

Things are, for you, peaceful. For Rose, they are rapidly devolving into stressful. It turns out that publishing a novel is no small task. You have learned, very quickly, that the process is excruciatingly slow and hinges almost entirely on the singular opinions of other people. A far cry from the days when Rose simply wrote magazine articles, she has spent the last several months in a near constant state of tension. Every meeting she goes to, every time she tries to sell her novel and by extension a portion of herself, has so far ended in failure, the kind of failure where she comes home insisting she’s fine and destroying something in the house. You fret. You always fret, the easy routine of your life feeling almost like cheating when she spends her time in panic. She keeps it to herself, she has always kept everything to herself, but you see the details. She’s been growing more withdrawn, more resigned with every passing rejection letter that she receives. More time is spent in the bath or walking around the house, violin tucked under her chin like a toddler’s blanket. Her hair has gone into a state of perpetual disarray, despite your pleadings to let you cut it. The only time she now does anything with her appearance is when she goes to yet another one of her meetings, shooing you from your bedroom while she dresses.

Rose leaves her makeup strewn on the countertops, her pajamas in a heap on the floor. You pick up when she leaves, always in a rush and always looking drawn too tight, her jaw clenched in a way that makes you worry she’s going to hurt herself. Counters need to be wiped down. Makeup needs to be organized. Pajamas need to be picked up from the floor.

You’re wiping the mirror when your phone rings. On instinct you jump, glaring at it like it has any control over when it blasts its high and cheery tone. Rose is calling. You check the time. Nine fifty two. Her meeting started at eight. That’s not good. Is she okay? Is she lost somewhere? You abandon the phone, rushing to your closet to start to pull on clothes. It stops ringing. Wait, shit, you forgot to answer it. You run back to the bathroom, clicking call back, and press the phone between your ear and shoulder, pulling up your skirt by hopping in place. She picks up on the first ring.

“Rose Are You Okay Where Are You?” You get it out in a breath, listening to her end of the line. You can hear the wind blowing harshly, the ever present rumbling whoosh of cars speeding by, and her own breathing, too loud, like she has the phone mashed close to her cheek.

“I am fine, Kanaya.” For once, she actually does sound fine. “In fact, I’m standing at the corner of 12th and Marigold, in front of what appears to be a perfectly lovely brunch spot. Of course, looks can be deceiving. It could very well be a trap.”

“A Very Cunning One Indeed.” You smile into the phone, pausing your frantic movements. “Am I To Assume This Means You Want Me To Join You For The Oddly Named Mid Morning Meal?”

“If that’s acceptable. How quickly can you be here?” She sounds like she’s holding back on emotion, her voice in the flat, calculated timbre she uses to try to hide something. It doesn’t work when you know she’s doing it specifically to hide something, but she does it anyways. “The waiting time for a table is just a hair over half an hour. Oh, what a Herculean task I have ahead of me. I must wait in a densely packed pseudo French café for my lover to come to me.”

You laugh. “I Will Be There In Thirty Minutes Allow Me To Finish Dressing I Feel It Would Be A Faux Pas To Enter The Building Sans Shirt.”

“Very well. Hurry, darling, the overstuffed couches may consume me whole. Goodbye.” She hangs up.

You curse under your breath, running to get better clothes on. She’s probably dressed up and by God you will not be shown up by her. You dissolve into a flurry of hair products and clothing. Eyeliner, eyeshadow, lipstick, foundation, blush- you consider polishing your horns but that takes upwards of an hour and you have to leave in ten minutes. Seven, now.

Of course, being fashionably late was never a problem. Perhaps it took a little longer than you thought to dress. Perhaps you were caught between three shades of lipstick. You saunter into the restaurant ten minutes past when you agreed to meet her, taking off your sunglasses to lock eyes with the host.

“Do you have a reservation?” He asks, looking interminably bored.

“I Am Looking For Someone Actually By The Name Of Rose Lalonde Do You Know Where I Could Find Her?” The host breaks out into the faintest hint of a smile. He nods, gesturing with his arm.

“Right this way.” That’s more than a little odd. The man was completely uninterested in you moments prior, yet now is apparently smirking to himself over your girlfriend. You almost bristle, expecting accusations of immorality to bubble from his mouth, but he just continues to smile, like he has a secret he is just barely containing. Your table is, mercifully, close.

Rose is radiant. Her outfit is one you are very familiar with, having sewn most of it for her. She’s doing her best to keep her face flat, the corners of her lips trembling upwards as she forces control over her features. Maybe when you were first meeting you wouldn’t have noticed. Maybe, when you were a scared and naive six sweep old, you would have fallen for it. Now, her movements are as obvious as semaphore. You slide a hand across the table, and she tangles her right hand with yours, squeezing your fingers. For a minute, you stay like that, regarding your meal options and sitting in a comfortable silence.

“They decided my novel was of sufficient quality to publish.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and you see a flash of something glittering. Is she wearing earrings? She never wears earrings. “I’m thinking about the rice porridge, what do you-”

“Rose!” You nearly shriek, cutting her off. “That Is The Best Possible News I Am So Excited For You Youre Finally Getting The Recognition For Your Obvious Genius That You Richly Deserve.” She quirks one eyebrow, the very edge of one lip.

“If it sells well. I’m not entirely sure we should be counting our cluckbeasts before they hatch.” She takes another second. “I will not deny, however, that this is a step in the correct direction. And, if I may be blunt with you, I am excited.” She’s broken out into a full grin now, digging her fingernails into the back of your hand.

“You Should Be Excited. If Anyone Fails To Fall To Their Knees And Worship At Your Feet I Will Weep For Their Poor Taste In Literature.” She laughs and you bring her hand to your lips, kissing her knuckles. “I Love You.”

Rose pulls her hand back, crossing her arms on the table in front of her. “Love you too.” Her tone is soft, fingernails tapping the tablecloth. The waiter comes over and you barely pay attention to your request for food, probably saying something ridiculous while you try to process this information. Your matesprit is being published. The book she has poured her heart and soul into, that she has been working on the eleven years you have known her, is going to see the light of day. When you get home you’re grabbing her and not letting her go, you’re going to kiss every inch of her skin.

You glance up and her chin is resting on the back of her hand, head turned toward the waiter.

She’s wearing the ring.

You don’t register it for a moment, still smiling at her.

She’s _still_ wearing the ring.

 _What_. You glance to her and she flicks her eyes to you, locking onto yours. She winks. You balk. She’s wearing the ring. She’s- the ring you bought her a sweep and a half ago, the ring that nearly ruined your entire relationship. It’s right there, resting nonchalantly on the same finger you had hoped to slip it on yourself. The waiter leaves and you widen your eyes at her, gesturing to her hand with a twitch of your head.

“Rose...” You start, not entirely sure what to say. It’s just as polished and beautiful as when you bought it. That makes no sense. It’s been so long, there’s no way it could have maintained it’s luster without care. The pieces slowly fall into place in your mind, a timeline constructing itself from scraps of information. Rose getting the ring from it’s hiding place and Rose going to get it polished and Rose putting in on herself before she went to her meeting and now, she’s wearing it. You have to remind yourself to close your mouth, blinking at her.

“As the great Earth poet Beyoncé once said, if you liked it-”

“Do Not Finish That Sentence I Am Vetoing The Finishing Of That Sentence.” You’re almost giddy, unable to sit still. “What Are You Doing?”

“You could consider this a very late acceptance of your proposal.” She swallows, her eyes scanning yours, faintly smiling. “The ring is beautiful, by the way. I never had a chance to tell you that.”

“What About Your Skittishness Around Commitment I Thought You Were Uneasy With The Idea Of Something As Permanent As Marriage.”

“I was. In some ways, I still am. But my irrational fear of committing myself to you is just that- irrational. I’m established in my life, I’m an adult in every sense of the word, and with the publication of this novel I have something approaching job security. That said, the most important piece in this argument is something that really shouldn’t have ever been an argument- I love you. We’ve been together for eight years. It’s high time I admit to myself that I have no intentions of ever leaving you.” Her smile fades, slowly turning into a look of pure concern. Fear, almost.

“We Do Not Have To Marry To Express Commitment And Permanence.” You rush to explain, chewing your lip and scrunching your eyebrows. “There Are Intricacies In Alternian That Can Express The Same Sentiment And There Would Be No Expensive Jewelry Or Fancy Outfits.”

She looks hurt, fiddling with the ring. “Humans _marry_. While I am completely happy to call you my matesprit,” she butchers the pronunciation but she tries and you love her for it, “I would like to marry you. I would like to stand in front of everyone I know and tell them all in no uncertain terms that I’m not going anywhere.” She blinks, pushing back from the table, the chair scraping across the floor. You turn in your chair and she gets down on a knee and she grabs your hands, the metal band she wears pressing onto your skin. “So the question stands. Kanaya Maryam, will you marry me?”

You stare at her in shock. This feels unreal, this feels impossible, like a dream that you’re going to wake up from to find Rose pressed snug to your side. Your lip trembles and you bite it to keep it from moving and you’re crying, pulling her up and kissing her. She wraps her arms around you and you pick her up off the ground, your hands on her waist.

The other patrons begin to clap. First, it’s just one person, a pair of hands, and then more, and then more, and then someone cheers and you pull away from her but she pulls you right back, crying just as hard as you are. She begins to laugh and it sets you off as well, both of you laughing and crying in the middle of a crowded brunch spot. Impulse seizes you and you dip her, leaning over her body to kiss her deeply and slowly, taking your time in tasting her, reveling in her presence on your mouth. She nearly loses balance, flinging her arms around your neck for support and you bring her up, still laughing. The pair of you sit back in your seats on shaking legs and catch each other’s eyes, laughing again, not entirely sure how to contain yourselves.

Brunch ended up being on the house. You clung to each other the entire way home, touching in as many places as you can, dizzy with excitement. Once at the door, you pick Rose up to carry her inside, pressing your forehead to hers.

“It Seems As Though We Have A Wedding To Plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! I am participating in both LadyStuck and GiftStuck this year, but if you are interested in me writing a continuation of this (wedding, etc) or something else, I ALWAYS take suggestions!!! (And I am looking for an excuse to write a sequel ;) )  
> Comments on how you liked it would be the best thing. Thank you, so much, for reading. It's been a pleasure.


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